


speed up to the precipice

by spacecar



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roller Derby, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 13:21:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17447774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacecar/pseuds/spacecar
Summary: She stands instead and raises an eyebrow in Charlotte’s direction. “You ready?”Charlotte grins at her, bright and predatory andterrifyingand Becky’s so glad to have her on her side.





	speed up to the precipice

**Author's Note:**

> I skipped practice to write this. I tried to stay out of the weeds but it’s a weird sport. Here’s the basics, if you’re interested: [Roller Derby 101](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OId6gTd2LCM)
> 
> Title is from Cry for Judas by The Mountain Goats.

Becky eyes the pack as she skates around the track, angling her body to hit the other team’s blockers with as much force as possible. They’re solid and they’re strong, but Becky’s fast and she’s _good_ at this. She hits the wall of blockers hard with her shoulder, breaking them apart a little, and fights her way through most of them quickly. There’s just one left — Rowdy. Of course. She's been giving Becky trouble most of the night. Rowdy’s facing her, lining up for a hit, and if Becky had more than a second and a half to react she’d probably roll her eyes because this girl’s scowl? Outta control. She’s bigger than Becky and Becky knows she can’t take her, so at the last second she jukes and runs untouched up along the inside line using the footwork she’s been working all season to nail, then taps her hips to call off the jam. 

She can hear her team shouting on the bench and it’s her favorite sound on the planet. She doesn’t spare Rowdy, or any of the opposing team, a second glance.

She looks at the scoreboard as she skates back to the bench, yanking the jammer star off her head as she goes. 8 points total that jam, putting them back up by 1. They’ve been leapfrogging the entire bout and she’s starting to get anxious.

She tries to hand the star to her coach but Paige just waves her off. “You might as well just keep it, Lass,” she shrugs. “You’re going back in.” Becky nods and grabs her water bottle, dropping herself in the seat next to Charlotte.

“You’re killing it today, dude,” Charlotte says, tapping Becky on top of her helmet. “If you’re going back in we’ve got it.” She glances out over the track, where Boss is currently scoring 2 points and calling the jam off. 121-124, their lead.

Becky grins and uses her jersey to wipe the sweat off of her face. “Killing my lungs, maybe. Pivot for me? They’re gonna put Rowdy back in. Think she might want me dead.”

Charlotte nods and grabs the helmet cover. “I’ll try to keep her off of you,” she promises, looking over to the other team’s bench.

Becky can’t resist. “Usually keeping girls off of me is the opposite of what I want,” she smirks.

Something on Charlotte’s face shifts a little, just barely. “Save it for the afterparty,” she says, and there’s a note in her voice that reaches past the competition and the adrenaline to tug at Becky’s chest.

She’s about to say something when the whistle blows and it’s time for them to get back on the track. She stands instead and raises an eyebrow in Charlotte’s direction. “You ready?”

Charlotte grins at her, bright and predatory and _terrifying_ and Becky’s so glad to have her on her side. “Last jam, Lass. Let’s make it count.”

 

 

Becky Lynch — Lass Kicker to the derby universe — joined roller derby on a whim. She was in a weird place: new in town, feeling unsettled, not really sure what she wanted to be doing. She saw a flyer in a bathroom stall one day and the next thing she knew she was in a warehouse on the other side of town surrounded by a bunch of other new recruits who were varying degrees of uncomfortable on their roller skates.

One of them was Charlotte, aka Fatal Flair.

She and Becky hit it off immediately as they wobbled around the track together. Becky, a natural athlete, took to derby quickly -- and she was relentlessly competitive. Charlotte matched her every step of the way, pushing her to be better, pick up the skills quicker, practice harder and learn the game faster. Becky loves derby more than just about anything, but some days she can’t imagine she’d have stuck with it if it wasn’t for Charlotte.

Their league had four teams and they came up together as rookies with the knowledge that they might be separated on draft night. It wouldn’t necessarily have been the end of the world since they all practice together more often than not and there’s a genuine sense of camaraderie between the teams even with the undercurrent of competition. Plus, Becky’s pretty sure she that she and Charlotte would have made amazing rivals. But on the day of the draft, when Lass Kicker and Fatal Flair’s names were called by the same team? The only thing that matched the overwhelming sense of _relief_ that Becky felt was when she looked up at Charlotte and just _knew_ she was thinking the same thing. When Charlotte threw her arms around her to celebrate, when they were sitting at a table surrounded by their new teammates, Becky was the happiest she’d ever been.

Their new team, they later learned, had been on a seemingly never-ending losing streak. “We got the first two draft picks,” Paige told them conspiratorially. “We could’ve grabbed Rowdy but the girl’s got a piss-poor attitude.” She’d looked at Charlotte appraisingly. “Plus we got you, so we don’t need her.”

They took Charlotte because they saw someone they could mold into an intimidating blocker.

And Becky?

“You’re small and you’re fast and you’re _strong_ ,” Paige told her. They were running the same drill over and over and making Becky jam each time. Her lungs were burning, her legs starting to wobble underneath her. “If you can build your endurance and channel that power, you’re gonna be unstoppable.”

She wasn’t, at first. But she worked, and she tried, and she _grew_.

And Fatal Flair grew right along with her.

It’s going to be their year. Becky can _feel_ it.

 

 

Becky’s not a huge drinker, but she usually makes the after parties her exception. She loves celebrating with her team, bright and loud and happy, after a win, and she loves the fierce, unwavering loyalty that comes out when they lose.

Tonight it’s a win. Some of her teammates are off dancing with the other team — the nice ones, at least. From where she’s standing near the bar she can see Rowdy and some of her goons sulking in the corner and she fights the urge to smirk. She’s all about being a good sport, honestly, but she _hates_ them.

She’s waiting for another drink when she feels someone lift her snapback off the top of her head. She turns around, indignant, to find Charlotte putting it on.

“My hair looks so bad right now,” she explains, reaching out to tousle Becky’s. “You’re just wearing it for the aesthetic, you jammed all night and somehow you look amazing.”

Becky wants her hat back, but Charlotte looks so _good_ , tall and flushed and beaming with Becky’s hat backwards on her head.

Becky wants her hat back, but not nearly as much as she wants Charlotte to keep it on. “All yours, love,” she says, smiling as Charlotte leans into her space. “You need another drink?”

Charlotte hooks her chin over Becky’s shoulder. “Yeah,” she says, nodding as the bartender sets Becky’s drink down. “Whatever you’re having is good.”

She loves Charlotte all the time. She loves Charlotte more than she should, probably. But Becky holds a special place in her heart for drunk after party Charlotte. She’s still pressed against Becky’s back, warm and sweaty from dancing with their teammates, and Becky doesn’t need to look to know that she’s got her eyes closed while they wait for her drink. When the bartender finally slides it towards them, she leans her head back so it bumps against Charlotte’s collarbone.

She’s content to stand there, close, and listen to the music. That’s exactly what they do until they see Boss determinedly making her way towards them.

“There’s gonna be a rumble,” she tells them seriously. Becky’s trying to process what that might mean when Hugs -- Hug o’ War, officially, but that’s a mouthful to spit out on the track -- comes bounding up.

“Of sorts,” she clarifies. “A rumble of sorts.”

“What does that even mean?” Charlotte takes half a step back from Becky but keeps one hand on her shoulder. Becky’s still in her jersey and Charlotte’s hand is hot against her bare skin.

“It means we need your help!”

Becky sighs. “I don’t—“

Hugs cuts her off. “Come _on_ ,” she says, dragging Becky towards the dance floor. Becky looks helplessly back at Charlotte to see Boss pushing her from behind. Charlotte’s shrugging and downing her entire drink. Becky laughs and follows her lead.

The rumble turns out to be karaoke, which is better than the dance-off Becky was expecting to find. Charlotte is _spectacularly_ bad, but she makes up for it with enthusiasm and the rest of them are actually pretty good. By the time they’ve exhausted a few songs and everyone’s gone back to dancing, Becky’s feeling pretty good about the show they put on.

“Come on,” she says, grabbing Charlotte’s wrist. Becky leads them to a booth, tucked off to the side and barely out of view of the dance floor. She slides in and Charlotte climbs in next to her, leaving the side across from them vacant. “You good?”

Charlotte nods, pressing lightly into Becky’s side and reaching for her drink. “I just felt all of the adrenaline leave my body at once,” she explains, taking a sip. “Suddenly very grateful that there’s clearly Red Bull in this.”

“I was anticipating the crash,” Becky shrugs. She leans her head back against the booth and closes her eyes. She can hear her entire team on the dance floor shout-singing along to some 80s power ballad and it makes her smile.

“Do you wanna go dance?” Charlotte asks. She doesn’t make any move to pull away.

“Mmm,” Becky hums. “Later, probably. Mostly just wanna drink this and sit here with you.”

Becky will tell anyone that her favorite part of the after party is letting loose with her teammates, and she wouldn’t really be lying. She does love it, loves dancing with Hugs and Boss and watching as Nat tries in vain to corral everyone.

But privately? It’s the way Charlotte always sticks to her side when she’s drunk, soft and warm and happy. It’s the way she always drags Becky out on the dance floor and dances with her like there’s no one else around. It’s the way they always stumble the few short blocks back to Charlotte’s apartment, laughing and holding on to each other.

Becky’s settling into a drunk, sleepy haze when she feels Charlotte shift to wrap an arm around her. She threads her fingers through Becky’s hair, scratching gently at the nape of her neck. Becky can’t help but lean into it.

“God, you’re like a cat,”’ Charlotte laughs. Her voice is right next to Becky’s ear, a little scratchy from all of the shouting and singing. “You were amazing today.”

“You’re always amazing,” Becky says, turning her face so it’s pressed against Charlotte’s shoulder. She knows Charlotte’s eyes will be soft and earnest. It’s better if she doesn’t look.

Charlotte grabs one of Becky’s hands and laces their fingers together. She presses her free hand against Becky’s cheek and gently turns it so Becky has no choice but to look at her.

“Becks…” Charlotte takes a deep breath, which is especially interesting because suddenly Becky feels like she can’t breathe at all. Her eyes meet Becky’s and it’s like she’s looking for something. She looks like she’s trying to decide what to say, what to do. 

Becky -- forever impulsive and forever letting that get her into trouble -- makes the choice for her and presses forward, brushing their lips together gently. She leans back after a moment and gives Charlotte a chance to pull away.

Charlotte doesn’t take it. She kisses Becky again, solid. Like a promise.

“You wanna get out of here?” Becky wiggles her eyebrows, shooting for over-the-top bravado and she can tell it lands when Charlotte laughs and tugs her out of the booth.

“If we’re careful we can get out the door without someone making us dance,” Charlotte says. Her fingers are still wrapped around Becky’s, firm like she’s trying to keep her from leaving. As if Becky would go anywhere. As if she _could_.

 

 

The morning after every single bout they’ve had since they were rookies together has gone the same way. Becky wakes up first because alcohol makes it impossible for her to sleep in. Charlotte’s usually dead to the world until at least 11, and by the time she’s conscious, Becky’s showered and scrolled through all of the photos from the bout on her phone and she’s demanding brunch.

They usually didn’t make out the night before, though, and at 6:47 AM that’s all Becky can think about. She woke up to Charlotte curled around her, same as always, but this time it feels wrong.

Because Becky’s been in love with Charlotte for almost as long as she’s known her, and Charlotte was definitely drunk and Becky feels a guilty weight settle in her stomach. Would she want this sober? Would she want _Becky_ sober? Becky’s not prepared for the answer to be no. She’s not prepared to lose the best and most important person in her life.

She wants to run but she can’t bring herself to get out of the bed. Instead she burrows deeper into the circle of Charlotte’s arms and decides to let herself have this for a few more hours.

She dozes fitfully and wakes up when Charlotte finally rolls out of bed. When Becky opens her eyes, Charlotte’s looking at her with concern. “You’ve usually hit me in the face with a pillow by now,” she says. “Are you okay?”

“‘M fine,” Becky says, voice still rough with sleep. She watches Charlotte carefully, afraid to be the first to bring it up.

Charlotte hands her a glass of water from the nightstand. “We drank a lot,” she says regretfully. “What is it about roller skating that makes me feel like I need to drink so much?”

“Dunno,” Becky says slowly. “Happens every time.” She says it a little pointedly, like she’s hoping Charlotte might mention something that definitely _doesn’t_ happen every time.

But Charlotte just sighs and starts digging through her dresser for a shirt. “I need, like, a mountain of pancakes,” she says. “Brunch in fifteen?”

Becky just grunts in response, throwing the covers off and making a beeline for the bathroom. Once she’s alone, she leans heavily against the door. _It’s fine_ , she thinks. _It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine._ Charlotte might not even remember. Becky could handle that, probably. Not remembering isn’t the same as pretending it didn’t happen at all. Cheered slightly by this prospect, Becky heads out to the living room to meet Charlotte. 

But on the walk to brunch, Charlotte brings up the karaoke. “I can’t believe you guys let me sing in public,” she says, bumping Becky’s shoulder with her own. “ _Again_.”

Becky laughs but she knows it would sound hollow even to someone that didn’t know her as well as Charlotte does. “It was mandatory, apparently.”

“I remember,” Charlotte says as they walk up to the restaurant. She holds the door open for Becky, who mumbles a quiet “thanks” and steps inside. The dark, familiar interior is usually a comfort but all Becky can think about is how badly she wants to turn and run.

 _I remember_.

Every second they go without talking about it makes Becky’s heart feel heavier until it’s sitting in her chest like lead. She can’t say anything now, right? If Charlotte wants to pretend nothing happened, Becky’s not going to be the one to demolish their entire friendship by bringing it up.

Charlotte’s telling her a story, recapping something from last night’s game, and Becky’s barely following what she’s saying. Her omelette sits mostly untouched in front of her.

Charlotte tries valiantly to maintain the conversation by herself, but eventually she runs out of steam and they spend the remainder of the meal in silence. Becky would probably be able to pass it off as a hangover if she could bring herself to say anything at all.

This morning when she woke up she would’ve told you she’d give anything, give up _everything_ , for them to just pretend it didn’t happen and act like everything was fine. But now it looks like they’re doing exactly that and Becky can feel her eyes stinging as they pay for their meals.

Charlotte’s quiet as they walk back to her apartment. She doesn’t ask if Becky’s going to come inside for their usual post-bout HGTV marathon and Becky’s grateful. She’s pretty sure she needs to do something stupid like _cry_ and she’d rather not do it while sitting on Charlotte’s couch watching House Hunters.

“Becky,” Charlotte starts when they get to her block and Becky pulls out her car keys. She sounds sad and confused and it makes Becky’s chest hurt.

“I’ll see you at practice,” Becky says, climbing in her car and closing the door before Charlotte can respond. She resists the urge to look until she’s at the end of the block and all she can see in her rearview mirror is Charlotte on the sidewalk, watching as she drives away.

 

 

They’ve usually got a little break between bouts, a meeting followed by a light week of practices before they really pull themselves back into the swing of things to get ready for the next game. Becky hasn’t touched or looked at her skates in days. She’s got about a million messages from her teammates that she’s ignoring. She’s got one missed call from Charlotte that she can’t bring herself to return.

Her self-imposed solitude comes to an end eventually, though, and on a Monday night she finds herself driving to practice with a pit in her stomach she hasn’t felt in years.

Everyone gives her a wide berth, but she can’t tell if it’s because they know what’s going on or if they’re just that good at reading her at this point. Probably the latter. Becky knows that no matter what happened, Charlotte’s not one to spread it around.

Half the league is already skating warm-up laps by the time Becky’s geared up. She joins them silently, doing some stretches as she skates in circles. She doesn’t see Charlotte and it makes her nervous because Charlotte _never_ skips practice. In their second year she showed up even though she had food poisoning and Becky had to drive her home before she threw up on the track. By the time they officially start, Charlotte’s still not there.

They’re doing a mixed scrimmage for their first practice back (“to remind you all that you like each other, _fuck_ ”) and Becky almost screams when she gets put on the black team with Rowdy. She’d been hoping to take her aggression out on a target she wouldn’t feel guilty about.

On her third jam out, she’s sizing up the blockers on the white team when their pivot, some girl Becky barely knows, suddenly skates off the track and Charlotte’s there taking her place. The whistle blows before Becky has time to process. Becky makes quick work of most of their blockers -- mostly rookies who weren’t fully prepared for a frustrated Lass Kicker blasting through them with her shoulder -- and finds herself looking Charlotte in the eye for the first time in a week. It feels symbolic that they’re skating against each other now, of all times, and Becky gives herself a fraction of a second to feel sad about it before she slams hard into the side of Charlotte’s body. Charlotte, strong and stable and _solid_ , barely moves with the impact but tries to use Becky’s momentum to drive her out of bounds. Becky tries to juke around but it seems like Charlotte’s everywhere at once somehow. The entire white team is bridging back to give Charlotte more room to work with.

It’s just them.

Of course it’s just them.

Becky tries to hop around on the outside line and Charlotte finally manages to hit her out of bounds, sprinting back to rejoin her pack and forcing Becky to recycle.

This time Becky barely even acknowledges that the rest of the white team is there. She goes straight for Charlotte, slamming a shoulder into her chest to try to knock her off balance. Charlotte huffs so loud Becky can hear it over the blood rushing in her ears. She jukes back and forth again, lungs burning, and manages an apex jump to get around Charlotte right as the whistle blows.

The white team starts putting Charlotte on the line every time Becky jams. The black team loses by 30 points.

“Never thought you’d be one to let your relationship drama impact your game, Lass,” Rowdy says as she’s leaving. The door slams behind her before Becky can do more than scowl in her direction.

She’s stuffing her water bottle in her bag when she sees a blonde braid in her peripheral vision. “Becks,” says Charlotte. Her voice is so soft that it sounds like she’s trying not to break something. “Can we talk?”

Becky sighs, pulling her hair into a knot on top of her head. “I’ve gotta go,” she says, eyes flitting towards the door. It looks so far away. “Promised Finn I’d come in early tomorrow.”

“I just--” Charlotte looks frustrated. “Are we okay?”

“I just need some space, yeah?” Becky doesn’t know how to explain that she’s fine with just being friends, she is, but she needs some time to get her bearings back. Some time to forget what kissing Charlotte felt like.

Charlotte looks so, so hurt and it makes Becky want to to take it back. But she thinks about spending time with Charlotte pretending she’s not _in love with her_. She thinks about trying not to cry in the middle of their favorite brunch spot and stands her ground.

“Yeah,” Charlotte says quietly, standing alone in the middle of the warehouse. This time Becky lets the door close behind her and doesn’t look back at all.

 

 

Avoiding someone you see three nights a week with is an impressive feat that Becky would proud of if it wasn’t the most upsetting thing she’d ever done. She manages to dodge Charlotte for nearly three weeks. It turns out that the answer to the question “can you avoid interacting with someone while also physically slamming your body into them for two hours” is a resounding ‘yes’.

The rest of the team picks up on it immediately and by their next bout, morale is at an all-time low.

“Dude,” Hugs is the only one brave enough to approach Becky on the bench. The other jammer got lead, and then she went to the box before she could get out of the pack. The other team kept scoring while she sat, useless and fuming, waiting to be let out of the penalty box and back on the track. And then the jam ended and she came back to the bench and now Hugs is looking at her with concern. “Are you okay?”

Becky wants to snap, wants to yell, but it’s _Hugs_ , probably the only person who is even willing to talk to her at this point, so instead she just sighs. “Not great,” she admits, looking out over the track. Charlotte’s playing offense, sweeping in to create a wide lane on the outside for Boss to get through. Trying to mitigate as much of Becky’s damage as possible. “I was shitty,” she admits. She’s not talking about the game.

Hugs wraps an arm around her shoulders. “A little,” she agrees. “Just talk to her.”

“Not sure I deserve to at this juncture,” Becky says quietly. She’s sinking a little deeper into the wallowing and self-deprecation than she normally would. It’s been a rough few weeks, though, and she’s _sad_.

“First of all, that’s bullshit,” Hugs says decisively. “Second of all, if you’re not gonna do it for yourself, do it for her. She’s having just as hard a time as you are.”

“Hugs!” Paige doesn’t look even a little sorry for interrupting them. “You’re up, get out there.”

Hugs slaps the top of Becky’s helmet once. “Think about it,” she says, and then skates off to join her line.

Paige looks at Becky thoughtfully and then tosses the jammer star in her lap. “Stop sulking and get ready to get back on the track, Lass. We can still do this.” She’s gone before Becky can comment, or argue, or throw the stupid star right back at her head.

Becky puts it on her head instead and watches as Charlotte’s line comes off the track. She’s high-fiving Boss as they skate towards the bench, laughing about something that happened during the jam. Becky tries to catch her eye but Charlotte’s deliberately not looking at her. Becky sighs and examines the line she’s going out with instead. Nat’s pivoting and Nat’s presence always makes Becky feel at least 30% calmer. Paige probably did that on purpose. She’s a good coach even when Becky wants to yell at her.

When it’s time for them to line up, Nat grabs both of her shoulders gently. “Give ‘em hell, kid,” she says. She holds on for a few seconds before shoving Becky backwards towards the jam line.

When Becky looks back at the bench before the whistle blows, her eyes meet Charlotte’s. Charlotte nods once, almost imperceptibly, and then the jam starts and Becky takes off like she’s been shot out of a cannon.

She gets lead almost immediately. A byproduct of playing like trash, she supposes, is that they’ve started to underestimate her. When she gets back around to the pack, her blockers still have the other team’s jammer locked down. They’ve sent someone to play offense but Nat deflects them easily, and Becky takes advantage of having one less person blocking her to skate straight through for a full scoring pass, then another.

When she skates around for her third, she’s nearly out of the pack when the other team’s jammer decides to go rogue and take matters into her own hands, coming out of nowhere and hitting Becky hard.

The last thing Becky’s aware of is the loud crack of her helmet hitting the concrete.

 

 

When Becky comes to, she’s still on the track. The medics are hurrying towards her and there’s a searing pain in her head.

There’s also Charlotte.

“Go back to your bench,” one of the medics tells Charlotte. Becky tries to shake her head but it hurts. She reaches for Charlotte’s hand instead, gripping it as tight as she can. The medic sighs. “We need to check her for a concussion. Let’s help her off the track and get her skates off.”

“No,” Becky says, the first time she’s spoken up since she lost consciousness. “Let me go back in, I need to go back in.”

“Becks,” Charlotte squeezes her hand. “It’s fine, there’s less than a minute left. Let them do their job.” She starts to stand, letting Becky lean on her.

Becky’s head fucking _hurts_. She lets Charlotte lead her off the track, towards where the medics have a table set up, and then all but collapses into a chair. Charlotte sits on the floor in front of her and starts unlacing her skates.

“I’m gonna give you three words to remember, and in a little bit I’m going to ask you what they were,” the medic tells her. Becky nods. It’s hard to focus on anything besides Charlotte’s hand wrapped around her ankle, but that doesn’t really feel like it’s concussion-related. “Blue.” Their team’s jerseys. The laces in her skates. Her water bottle. “Fly.” The airplane over from Ireland. The way she feels when she’s skating around the track. “Sun.” Charlotte.

It doesn’t feel like a great way to judge whether she has a concussion because there’s no way she could possibly forget.

 

 

By the time Becky makes it to the locker room, it’s empty. Someone -- Charlotte, almost definitely -- made sure her gear was put away. It makes Becky smile through the ache in her head.

She lies down on a bench as the exhaustion finally crashes over her. The medics were pretty sure she didn’t have a concussion so they let her leave but now her head feels heavy and she’s tired. Definitely too tired for the after party which is probably for the best given how royally she screwed things up at the last one.

Almost as if summoned by Becky’s train of thought, the locker room door opens and Charlotte walks in.

“How are you feeling?” Charlotte asks, like they haven’t spent the past few weeks not talking.

“Probably not concussed,” Becky shrugs. “Fuckin’ hurts, though.”

Charlotte nods sympathetically, sitting on the bench near Becky’s feet. Becky pulls herself into a sitting position with a sigh.

“And uh… everything else? How are you?” Charlotte’s voice is tentative. “I miss you.”

Becky takes a deep breath. “I owe you an apology, I think?” She stares at the ground. “I uh… it seemed like you didn’t wanna talk about what happened, or maybe I didn’t want to talk about what happened in case you said something I didn’t want to hear. I might have…” she pauses. “Caught some feelings? Or something? For you. Which, y’know, I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable or anything so don’t worry about it, I can—“

“Becky,” Charlotte interrupts. “Becks. Look at me.” Becky looks up from the sneakers that were on the receiving end of most of her monologue. Charlotte’s smiling a little bit, like something about this is funny. “I’m in love with you.”

It takes Becky’s brain longer than it should to process what Charlotte’s saying. Maybe she _does_ have a concussion. “Wait,” Becky says. “Then why… the next day, we never talked about it. You were acting like nothing changed.”

“I didn’t realize we had to,” Charlotte admits. “I thought…” she sighs and runs her hand through her hair. “I thought — stupidly, now that I think about it — that that was it, you know? That we were…”

“Together?” Becky says, so quiet she’s not even sure Charlotte hears her.

Charlotte nods. “Yeah. I didn’t… I don’t know. It always felt so inevitable to me, you know? And we already basically were, so I never really thought there had to be a conversation.”

“We were drunk,” Becky says weakly. “ _You_ were drunk. I thought you might regret it.”

“Becky,” Charlotte says, forcefully enough that Becky’s forced to look at her. She looks stricken. “No. Never.” Charlotte reaches for Becky’s hand and laces their fingers together just like she had the other night. It had felt dreamlike then through the drunken haze. Now it just feels solid. Safe. “I thought _you_ regretted it.”

“Can’t think of anything less likely,” Becky says honestly, squeezing Charlotte’s hand a little tighter. “I’m sorry.”

Charlotte shakes her head, laughing. “You’re an _idiot_ ,” she says fondly.

Becky can’t argue. “Your idiot, though, yeah?” she asks. She knows, she _knows_ , but she needs to hear it.

“Yeah,” Charlotte agrees. “You’re mine.”

Becky kisses her. She thinks about the fact that she could have spent the last three weeks doing this if she had just _said something_ but she’s too happy to do anything but smile.

Charlotte breaks away from her and Becky can’t stop the disappointed noise from leaving her throat. “Come on,” Charlotte says, standing up and tugging Becky along with her. “Someone needs to stay with you to make sure you didn’t rattle anything in there too hard.” She sets one hand on top of Becky’s head gently like she’s afraid of doing more damage. “Plus you owe me like, at least five hours of House Hunters.”

“Yeah,” agrees Becky. She pulls Charlotte to a stop suddenly. “Hey. I’m in love with you too. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” says Charlotte, kissing Becky once, quick, before leading her out the door. “I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [sasskick](http://sasskick.tumblr.com/) on tumblr and I'm in way too deep, come say hi!


End file.
